Page 29 of A Knight in Tarnished Armor

"Aye." The earl gently touched his swollen eye and winced. "Never in all her eighteen years has my little Linnet been angry at me."

"She has the patience of a saint."

Arden scowled and tipped his tankard for a large drink, then said, "She must have a wealth of patience. She spent a week with you."

"I'm an ass," William admitted.

"Aye, that you are," Arden agreed. "But a damned fine and determined ass. I had to hire four different knights. They refused to take you on a second time."

"Me or Swithun?"

Arden shuddered. "Don't remind me of that cat. Bites me at least once a day."

Both men exchanged identical looks, then Arden laughed. "If it weren't for Linnet, Warbrooke, I might take occasion to call you friend."

William rubbed his bruised chin and winced. "Aye. You're quick for an old man."

"Who is old?" Arden frowned and puffed out his chest. "I'm as strong as I was when we stopped the Welsh uprising! And the third crusade was a . . ." He raised his fingers and tried to snap them. He couldn't do it. Frowning, he took another drink, then belched. He tapped his chest with a fist. "That's better. Now where was I?"

"The third crusade," William supplied gloomily.

"Aye! I can knock a man half my age from his mount! I can pleasure a lady, two in fact, and I can down a hogshead of ale and still walk a straight line!" He raised his mug high. His eyes rolled back and he passed out facedown on the table.

William stared. The old man was snoring. He picked up his tankard, then the earl's and dumped the contents into his. "No sense wasting good ale," he muttered, stood suddenly, and stumbled out of the hall.

He walked down the dark passages of the abbey, opening door after chamber door, until he found the chamber he sought. It took him five minutes to light a candle, and he slumped into a small wooden chair that squeaked under his weight and rested his elbows on a scribe’s desk. He searched the top, then opened a carved wooden box. "Aha! I knew 'twould be in here." He took out a piece of thin parchment, a quill, and a precious pot of ink.

William stared at the blank parchment, took a deep breath, then picked up the quill. He snapped the top off the ink pot, closed one eye, and tried to dip the quill tip into the jar. Seven tries and much concentration later, he hit his target. And with his next breath he began to write.

Linnet lay in her bed beneath ten blankets, a feather coverlet, and a fur robe. Her cats, rabbits, and ducks were with her, cuddled into different parts of the room. She stared at the dark ceiling. Her chamber was high in the abbey tower, a place for solitude. A place for thought. A place for her to cry her broken heart out. She missed the stars. She missed the fresh night air. She missed William lying next to her. Her eyes began to fill with tears for the hundredth time.

Odd, she hadn't thought she had any tears left to cry.]

A loud crash sounded from outside. She sat upright and listened sharply. There was nothing. Only quiet. The sound had awakened Swithun whose ears were still perked expectantly.

She lay back down and snuggled deeper under the covers with her gray cat curled near her pillow. A moment later a pebble bounced across the tower floor. Swithun leapt down and chased it across the room.

Very slowly, she swung out of bed and, back pressed to the stone wall, she slipped toward the window and stopped. A handful of pebbles flew through the opening.

"Psssst!" More pebbles pattered the flagstone floor.

She stuck her head out the arched window. "William?" she whispered.

He stood in the courtyard below with a long torch held high in one hand.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Shhhhh." He raised a finger to his mouth. "Can you hear me?"

"Of course I can hear you. You're shouting."

"Good." He stood a little straighter, then weaved slightly.

"Have you been drinking?"

"Aye. Just a barrel or two." He stumbled slightly, then held a piece of parchment up near the torch. Too near. A corner of the parchment suddenly flamed. With a curse he dropped the paper and stomped out the flame, then bent down and picked up the parchment. He squinted at it and puffed out his chest. He held the torch like a conquering warrior and shouted, "Ode To A Midsummer's Night!"

"What?" She braced her hands on the window ledge. Swithun joined her and peered down as she leaned outside.